Mending the Cracks
by paltropie
Summary: At the Battle of Hogwarts, a choice was made that changed the course of history. Voldemort was never defeated, and the war was never won. Now, three years later, Harry Potter, the most infamous Death Eater, meets Auror Draco Malfoy. Will a once broken man be able to save another? AU. A tale of healing, friendship, forgiveness and redemption. [ON HIATUS]
1. The Missive

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the world of Harry Potter or anything you recognise - never have, and never will. All credits go to the one and only J.K. Rowling, whose tale of a young boy wizard has inspired so many around the world, and who has so graciously allowed us fans to further explore the amazing world she created write our own dreams to life.

 **Note:** This story below is AU and does not follow the later aspects of DH canon. There is no slash, no overly coarse language or explicit themes in this story. However, it will explore certain dark themes and deal will some complicated issues. I have not written much of this story, however, I hope you'll have as much fun reading this story as I have writing it. Reviews, favourites and follows are always appreciated! :)

 **Summary:** The choice Harry Potter made in the Forbidden Forest the night of the Battle of Hogwarts severely altered the course of his life and the course of Wizarding Britain. The Boy Who Lived never defeated Voldemort, but rather, for reasons unknown to anyone but himself and the Dark Lord, Harry Potter joined Voldemort's forces. Thus, the war has never been won - battles of all scale are constantly being fought and the plannings of both sides never cease. Now, three years later, Auror Draco Malfoy is called upon to handle the interrogation of one Harry Potter, the most infamous Death Eater. What will come about of this encounter? Can Draco discover the reasons behind the turn and heal Harry's haunted soul?

* * *

 **Chapter 1: The Missive**

 _'Lightning has struck the building.'_

With widened eyes, Donovan Teneriff surveyed the coded notification that had referred itself to his sparsely decorated, Ministry allocated office. The parchment contained a single line, and to the Head Auror of the Specialist Depletion Unit, the message was concise and unmistakable. Harry Potter, the most ruthless and notorious follower of He Who Must Not Be Named, had been taken into custody, and if the missive was indeed genuine, he was currently held in a maximum-security interrogation cell deep within the bowels of the Ministry. Contemplating the significance of the news, Teneriff allowed himself a moment of immense relief, seeking solace in the fact that the meticulously planned, cold-blooded murders of Muggleborns and the brutal, immoral attacks on the members of the Order of the Phoenix, would if not cease, decrease in number; and desperately hoped that the oppressing fear and darkness that had permeated Wizarding Britain since Potter had joined the Dark Lord's forces would loosen its hold on the warring community.

But for all the Auror was, and of all that he wished for, Donovan Teneriff was not a fool, and he knew that severe ramifications were bound to follow. A shiver went down his spine at the thought of Voldemort personally releasing his right-hand man from the clutches of the 'light', and he immediately flung that image out of his mind. There was no good in dwelling on possibilities. The present was all that mattered, and with Potter's arrest, there were urgent matters that needed attending to. The entirety of the high-priority case now fell to him and his department, and there was only one wizard whom Donovan trusted to handle the responsibilities properly.

The Auror reached for the wand holstered in the right sleeve of his deep red robes; the wand that had felled so many in the three years he had been Head. With a simple flick of his left wrist, contrasting distinctly with the complex wand movements of a duel, Donovan composed a memo. Another flick and it vanished, no doubt materialising at the nearly-identical wooden desk several doors down the hall. Donovan stowed his wand back in his sleeve and leaned back in his chair, a hand raised to knead the ever-present tension away from his neck. A smile, the first in as many weeks, settled on his face as he comprehended the reality of the situation. Donovan knew from experience that the response to his memo would arrive soon enough, and now all the aged Auror had to do was wait.

...

Although he tried his best to hide it, Draco Malfoy was exhausted. The constant combat had worn him down, and every life that he took at the point of his wand reminded him of the boy he once was. The nightmare of the broken man he might have been had he followed in his father's mistake-ridden path haunted him relentlessly and rendered him sleepless. Draco was weary of the hostilities and mistrust from the wizarding society at large, merely because the one wrong choice he'd made in a phase of foolishness and naivety was forever branded on his arm. He was tired of the ceaseless threats on his life and on the lives of the people he had learned to care for. Draco Malfoy, the youngest Auror of the SDU, just wanted the war to end.

Sometimes, Draco wished that he'd been slain along with his parents. _Unlike the living, the dead were free._ The platinum-blond Auror closed his troubled grey eyes and sighed. Running a hand through his already dishevelled hair, Draco reached for the framed photograph resting among the stacks of paperwork on his plain wooden desk. He gazed wistfully at the three robed figures moving within the confines of the picture and brushed a calloused thumb over the woman's fingers, as though by doing so, he could somehow reach past the dimensional barrier and grasp his mother's own hand. Oh, how Draco wished for that to be true. More than he missed the peace and privilege of his younger years, and the happiness that he'd imprudently taken for granted, Draco hungered for the chance to see his parents again.

The death, or rather, murder of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy mere weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts had hit their lone heir hard, serving as the driving force for Draco to register himself for the then largely understaffed Auror Corps. And thus, it was in the memories of his speedy, yet thoroughly unexpected acceptance into the Auror Training Program, and the reminiscences of his rushed and considerably condensed three-month training course that had Draco absorbed when the missive appeared before him.

Draco blinked, rather surprised that a note had come for him. It had been a while since he'd received any special parchment slips. Usually, he responded to a direct department alarm that sent him and his partner Apparating to a specific scene. Anxious and unsure, Draco hastily unfolded the note and skimmed over the words.

 _'Sparks, I'm waiting in my office. Kingpin.'_

Draco rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname the team had coined for him. Just because the first spell he'd cast as a fully-fledged Auror hadn't worked out as well as it was meant to… But beneath the joking overtone, Draco detected a hint of something else within the few words, and his eye roll turned into a furrowed brow. _What could possibly have happened that requires my attention? And why couldn't Kingpin have come here himself, like always?_ Although apprehensive, the unspoken notes within the message had piqued Draco's curiosity, and he vacated his seat, heading for the unadorned door that led into the passageway beyond.

No more than fifteen strides later, Draco paused outside the door marked with a copper plaque that read: _D. Teneriff._ He straightened his robes then tapped his wand to the door to signify his presence. Draco heard a muffled 'come in' from the other side of the entrance, and he pushed open the door.

Without raising his head to greet his subordinate, Donovan Teneriff spoke.

"Nice to see you, Sparks. Much calmer this time, I see."

"Would it kill you to use my birth name for once? And that was three years ago. Three years. If I'd known all you wanted was an inane cup of Earl Grey…" Draco trailed off, an invisible eye roll present in his reply. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Sir."

Donovan pulled his attention away from the sheet of parchment that had been subject to his analysis and waved away the formality.

"I've told you, _Sparks_. There's no need for such titles in this department. We all know you're one of the best Aurors that SDU has, and on par with Weasley and Longbottom, I'd say. My position will be yours sooner or later, and when the team starts addressing you as 'sir', I'll bet you ten galleons you'll rather they not."

Draco shifted, still slightly uncomfortable with rather straightforward compliments even three years in.

"Thank you, but no. With all the paperwork your role entails, the Dark Lord himself would have to possess me before I'd willingly take your post. It certainly makes me wonder how lowly you'd been before that the offer was too sound to turn away."

Donovan smiled, familiar with Draco's mannerisms. Every time Draco felt awkward, he became insulting. In all honesty, it was fairly amusing, now that he thought about it, although it hadn't been quite so when Draco had first been assigned to their unit.

"Ah, Sparks, do you remember your first day here?"

The Head of the SDU grinned, chuckling when Draco scowled.

"You'd just met your partner. Jem had congratulated you on graduating top of your class and told you that his abilities could never compare to yours. If I remember correctly, your reply was: 'Of course not. With your mother's muggleborn blood running through your veins, you'll obviously never compare to me.', but with a rather more vulgar term."

Draco crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Honestly, Kingpin. The stunner Jem fired at me had quite an effect, and I don't want to be reminded of it. If this was what you summoned me for, I'd rather return to moping, thanks."

Donovan's smile faded away and his expression turned serious. He gestured towards the only remaining chair in the office and waited for Draco to take the seat.

"No, Draco. We have an arrest."

Donovan leaned back and held his fellow Auror's searching gaze, letting the use of Draco's real name convey the seriousness of the situation.

"Yaxley?"

Donovan shook his head.

"Rookwood?"

Again, another shake of the head.

"Macnair?"

"No."

"Who?"

"Harry Potter."

The name was met with stunned silence. Draco's jaw dropped, both pale eyebrows raised. For just a second, the veil that had covered the young Auror's eyes was removed, and before the veil fell back into place, Donovan saw depthless emotion swirling within them. With a sharp intake of breath, Draco spoke.

"You can't be serious. Potter?"

"Why would I kid you, Sparks?"

"Potter. Sweet Merlin. Harry bloody Potter. How did they get him?"

"I've yet to be clued in. The note didn't mention details. Draco, I need you to –"

"No. You can't expect me to handle this one. I'm not doing it and neither is Jem. Get Crowley and Roland to take it."

"Draco."

"Potter killed my parents!"

"The Fatality Investigative Service never found any evidence to truly incriminate him, and you know that."

"His magical signature was everywhere. Who else could it have been?"

"You-Know-Who travels everywhere with Potter. Could it not have been the Dark Lord himself?"

Draco scoffed, although he knew the probability of that circumstance, one that he'd been trying to picture for the better part of a year.

"Draco, you and Jem are the only suitable Aurors. Although I completely trust the others with my life, they're not cut out for this case."

Draco recognised the truth of the statement. Amanda Roland and Hermes Crowley could take down a mass of Death Eaters singlehandedly, but they were too terrified of Potter's name and would not last a minute in his presence. Edrick Schnyder, Quentin Herbert and Castelina Salvens sympathised, to an extent, with Potter, and there was a distinct possibility that they would hesitate in the crucial moments and botch the entire process up. Still, Draco refused to accept the fact that there was no other candidate to turn to.

"Have I not told you about my school days, Donovan? We hated each other. Slytherins and Gryffindors don't mix."

"Have you forgotten, Sparks? Your partner, Jermaine Lestrade, was a Gryffindor. You work perfectly well together, don't you?"

"You know what I mean."

Donovan didn't deign Draco's comment with an answer. He steepled his fingers and rested his chin atop them, unblinkingly scrutinising the Auror sitting across from him. Draco knew in the instant that he caught the grave look in Donovan's eyes that he had lost – Donovan was correct in pointing out that no concrete evidence had been discovered to pinpoint Potter as his parents' murderer, and Draco had slowly learned to let go of the hate and grief; the childish rivalry of his Hogwarts days had long since dissipated, and had been replaced by far more substantial matters. Avoiding his elder's eyes, Draco groaned, reluctant to admit defeat.

"Fine," Draco bit out, and rose to his feet.

"Excellent. Let's clue your partner in, then, shall we?"

Donovan stood and crossed over to his younger colleague, clasping him on the shoulder. Draco gave a short nod in response, and the two men, with Draco leading the way, departed the office.


	2. The Meeting

**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Harry Potter - honestly, I wish I did. But it all belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling. I'm merely borrowing her world.

 **A/N:** Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourite-d or followed this story. Although the response so far has been small, I still really appreciate it and hope for your continual support. Stories can only live with the breath of their readers :) Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **Chapter 2: The Meeting**

As his partner stepped into the lift, Draco pressed the button that led to the Ministry's holding cells and slouched against the finished side panelling. The grate slid closed, an anonymous female voice announcing the Aurors' destination. An array of thoughts flashed through his mind and Draco fixed his gaze on a blemished spot in the wood, paying no mind to the man standing beside him. Draco frowned, recalling the unpleasant incidents of his school days. _Was it honestly surprising that Potter emerged in virtually every memory?_ The detention with Hagrid in first year, Moody transfiguring him into a ferret, the duel in Myrtle's bathroom _that_ year, the destruction of the Room of Requirement and his subsequent rescue at Potter's hand, no less… There were more, of course, but those few were the ones that plagued his thoughts most frequently and compelled him to wonder why exactly Potter had had his change of heart. Draco sighed again – it seemed that he'd been doing that quite often now – and turned his attention back to his fellow Auror, whose gaze exuded worry.

"What?" Draco snapped, unsettled by the look he was receiving.

"You alright, mate? I haven't seen you like this since the one with Nott."

"What do you _think_ , Lestrade? It's Potter down there! You know our history, and you know _who_ he is! What if he leads the Dark Lord here, huh? I'm right up here" – Draco held a hand above his head – "on his list, and as much as I loathe admitting it, I'd stand no chance against him!" Draco retorted, voice raised.

Jem raised both hands in a placating gesture.

"Draco, mate, calm down. I know you're worried. Hell, I am too, probably much more so than you. It _is_ Harry Potter, after all. But we, no – _I_ – can't afford to have you lose your composure down there, Sparks. This may be our only chance to end it all and we _have_ to get this right."

Draco flicked his eyes up to the taller man, and finding his own mix of emotions – fear, worry, unease, and even a sliver of hope – mirrored in the hazel orbs, he exhaled, releasing the tension that had been pent up inside him.

"You're right, Jem. You always are," Draco muttered, then addressed his partner. "With age comes wisdom, eh? And you weren't even a Ravenclaw."

Jem laughed. "I'm only four years older than you, Sparks. And we're not just defined by our old houses, you know? But," here, his grin faded. "You'll be fine?"

"Yeah. I will. But, you know, you're not my mother, Lestrade. Thanks for your worry, but I don't need it." Draco answered, although his eyes screamed the opposite.

Jem caught Draco's real meaning and smiled, just as the lift came to a halt. A ding resounded through the box and the door opened, the voice once again announcing their destination. "Tunnel C: Interrogation Rooms and Holding Cells."

Both Aurors drew themselves to their full height, and with a shared look that conveyed reassurance and a renewed sense of confidence, took the steps that would lead them towards the one prisoner they never thought they'd see.

…

"Good afternoon, Auror Malfoy. Auror Lestrade," The guard acknowledged as the crimson-robed pair approached the grey-walled interrogation room.

"It is good, isn't it, O'Dair," Jem greeted, while Draco gave a curt nod.

A semblance of a smile pasted itself on Lawrence O'Dair's face. "Yes, it sure is. And with you two on the job, it's bound to get better." Then the grey-haired guard took on an air of professionalism and handed them a marble each. "I know you two can handle yourselves, but I'm still obliged to say this. Your tokens will be activated once you step inside. If, for any reason – and there shouldn't be since Potter's been magically bound – the situation gets out of control and you find yourselves in trouble, just take hold of your marbles and more guards will come running to back you up. Understood?"

Both Aurors nodded and O'Dair pointed his wand at the wall, forming an outline of an entrance. With Jem in tow, Draco stepped forward and twisted the handle to the now-solid door, steeling himself for the sight that would hail him.

…

The resolve that Draco had built came crumbling down as he caught his first glimpse in three whole years of Harry Potter, his former nemesis and bane. He stopped in his tracks when he locked eyes with the seated man smirking malevolently at him – an action so foreign from the altruistic gestures of the Gryffindor golden boy that, if Draco hadn't been sure that anyone taken into custody was identity-checked, he would swear that the person before him could not be Harry Potter. Distracted as he was, Draco didn't feel his partner's presence behind him and when the door clicked shut, he jumped slightly. Potter's smirk grew and Draco silently cursed himself for the show of weakness.

Shaking himself, Draco fought the urge to look to his fellow Auror for support and went to claim one of the two vacant chairs across from Potter. Although still mildly unnerved, Draco inspected the detainee. Potter looked very different from the teenager that he'd last seen at Hogwarts. He was clothed in grey prisoner's garb and the Dark Mark stood out starkly on his bare left forearm. The once unruly mop of hair had been tamed somewhat, and was of a lighter shade than Draco remembered. Potter had lost the circular glasses and the slender seeker's frame had been exchanged for a more muscular build. But what unsettled Draco were Potter's eyes – the green no longer held youthful innocence and cheer, instead, they looked almost dead. _Could this have been me, if roles were reversed?_ Draco repressed a shiver and began the routine questioning.

"Mr Potter, I am Auror Malfoy and–"

Draco was interrupted rather abruptly.

"How nice to see you again, Draco. You've been busy, I presume," Potter regarded Draco with a vindictive gleam in his eyes. "You know, I never expected you to become an Auror. Why _did_ you become one?"

Through his training and experience, Draco could pick up on the slightest inflections, observe the minute details and read between the lines. So at that question, Draco's heart skipped a beat and unwarranted thoughts ran rampant through his mind. _Is this proof then? Was Potter involved after all?_ Unsure of the identity of his parents' murderer, Draco could only fight the temptation to hex Potter for answers. He knew that that action would not only be immature and impulsive, but it would be stupid, and in this situation, it wouldn't help. _But maybe it could..._ An uncharacteristic, rebellious part of Draco's mind voiced. But before Potter's taunting could affect Draco any further, Jem intervened.

"Mr Potter, I suggest that you only answer the questions we pose to you."

Draco watched mutely as Potter's attention flicked to the other Auror.

"Ah, and you must be Draco's partner. You seem familiar. Have we met?"

Potter stilled and his eyes took on a faraway sheen, seemingly searching through his own mind for the answer. Then, after a few moments, Potter smiled – a smile that seemed so _wrong_ on the face of this version of him – and Draco shuddered.

"You were a Gryffindor, weren't you? You were a fifth year when I first started at Hogwarts. I'm afraid I can't remember your name, though," Potter commented in a mocking tone.

Draco felt his temper flare at the subtle implication. _You can insult me all you like, Potter, but Jem is off limits._

"Potter! You may have forgotten, but _we_ are in control here, not _you_. It would be in your interest to start cooperating."

A dark, twisted expression flashed briefly across Potter's face and Draco pulled back only fractionally, but it was more than enough ammunition for Potter.

"Scared, Malfoy?" Potter's smirk was back in place, and Draco felt an eerie sense of déjà vu. "You should be, you know?"

Yes, Draco _was_ indeed scared. He was scared of _this_ Potter – so unlike the heroic Scarhead – and of the depraved deeds he had committed in the Dark Lord's service; the violent murder of his parents potentially just one of them. _How many had he killed or tortured? Had any of the unfortunate victims been children? Did Potter hesitate before he raised his wand? Or had it become almost an automatic response, feeling nothing at all?_ Draco was scared of the power that Potter exuded even here, without his leader or his wand. But there was no way that he was going to show it, so Draco merely leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Potter.

Finally, Potter relented and broke the silence. "Fine. I'll give you answers; you let me walk away."

"Let you walk away?" Draco asked incredulously. "You'd have to be bloody mental if you think we'd cut you that deal."

"You can let me walk away, no strings attached, or you can lock me up in Azkaban and watch helplessly as the Dark Lord breaks me out, destroying anyone and anything in his way. It's your choice, Malfoy. It would be _such_ a pity if you made the wrong one." Potter stared at a spot above Draco's head as he spoke, as if he really couldn't care less.

Although Potter's indifference infuriated him, Draco also recognised Potter's jibe for what it was, and as much as the words stung, he forced the feeling back. Now was not the time to get riled up. A decision of considerable import rested on his shoulders, and as much as he hated it, Potter was right. He couldn't afford to mess up. To Draco, the choice was glaringly obvious, but was it truly the correct option?

However, before Draco could voice his decision, someone else had spoken for him.

"Mr Potter, if we agree to let you walk, we have conditions. You will give us any information we may need and you will answer whatever we ask completely and honestly. And if we are unsatisfied with your responses and deem Veritaserum necessary, you will not resist. Is that clear?"

 _Jem._ Jem had spared him the decision. Admittedly, Draco had forgotten that his partner was even in the room. He shot the other Auror a grateful look, and receiving a tight smile in reply, focused back on Potter.

"Yes," Potter replied, the deadened appearance of his eyes lifting for a second. Instead, they blazing with something Draco couldn't quite identify, although he did detect a hint of relief. _Strange. What did it matter to Potter if the Dark Lord was the one who released him instead?_

Still, if he was honest with himself, Draco was surprised at the affirmative response. He didn't think _this_ Potter the type to agree to their terms so readily. _But then again, Potter had been a Gryffindor, and maybe those traits aren't easily pushed away._ Now though, questions were rapidly forming inside Draco's mind, and not just the standard ones. He wanted answers, and fast. Everything else – further complications, legal issues – could be dealt with later on.

"So, Mr Potter, shall we begin?"

Potter lifted up the wrists that Draco knew were secured together with an invisible anti-magic chain. "Fire away, my dear Aurors. I'm not going anywhere."

The unspoken 'for now at least' hung between the three men, and Draco decided to ignore it. He felt the brusque, authoritative note return to his voice, and with a glance at his partner, he posed his first and most vital question.

"Is the Dark Lord aware of your current whereabouts?"


	3. The Questions

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter doesn't belong to me. You should know that. Really.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Questions**

 _"Is the Dark Lord aware of your current whereabouts?"_

Potter raised a derisive eyebrow. "If he did, I wouldn't be here now, would I? I thought you lot were supposed to be _smart_. No, the Dark Lord doesn't know."

"You are certain?"

"Yes," Potter replied, rolling his eyes. "I made sure he wouldn't know."

Draco's eyes widened fractionally and he shot a quick glance at his partner. He was mystified at the meaning behind Potter's words and desperately wanted clarification. "What do you mean you 'made sure'?"

"For Merlin's sake, Malfoy, I mean exactly that."

At Draco's look – indicating that he should elaborate – Potter continued. "The Dark Lord believes I am on a mission outside the country. I have measures in place to alert me if he does discover my location. They haven't failed before and they shouldn't fail now."

"Before? You've gone behind his back before this, then?"

In the slight moment of silence, Draco focused in on Potter's fingers, which were drumming frantically in a pattern against the side of the chair. He tried to recall whether Potter had ever done so back in school and he wondered if Potter even knew of the action, but decided against mentioning it, seeing as it was a hint into Potter's mannerisms (which could be filed for later).

"Yes," Potter responded, a mask of calm – though his frenzied fingers told a significantly different story. "Don't look so shocked. I can be quite the Slytherin, you know. As a matter of fact, if I hadn't fought the Hat, we would've wound up in the same house, and then, maybe we wouldn't have been enemies."

It wasn't really that much of a surprise to Draco to hear that. Not anymore. He'd always believed that Potter would've fared well in Slytherin, even though he'd been too Gryffindor most of the time. Draco surveyed Potter, pondering his words, contemplating the myriad realities that could have been. _It really is a day of revelations, isn't it. Potter as a Slytherin. House mates, huh. Maybe even friends._ A stray mental image of him and Potter terrorising the younger years together popped into Draco's head, and he met eyes with Potter again, fighting off a smile.

"You should've just let the Sorting Hat do its job, Potter."

Draco didn't know what exactly he meant by that, but even though things couldn't be changed, he felt it needed to be said, all the same. He watched as a wistful expression flitted across Potter's face, but it was gone as soon as it had come, replaced by grimness that should never have been seen on someone still so young. Draco sorely wished that he had deigned to master Legilimency – access into Potter's mind was a definite want right now.

"Sure, Malfoy, sure. Maybe I would have joined the Dark Lord sooner, hey?"

Draco frowned, and before he could stop himself, a question – one that had been burning within him for years – had escaped his lips.

"What happened to you, Potter?"

Draco was met with silence, and he decided to continue, if only to get the words off his chest.

"You were the quintessential Gryffindor – playing hero year after year with Granger and Weasley; always fighting anything that went against your principles. Why, then? _Why_ did you do it?"

Draco didn't have to elaborate on his question for everyone in the room to know what he meant, and he didn't fail to notice the emotion that flared in Potter's eyes when he mentioned the names of the two Gryffindors. Draco scrutinised the Death Eater, trying to decipher the enigma that was Harry Potter. Potter met his gaze unflinchingly, and of all things he could've done, he shrugged.

"That's on a need-to-know basis only, Malfoy, and you two, however _important_ you are, don't need to know."

"Would you rather answer under Veritaserum?" Draco countered, suppressing his irritation. _Good grief, Potter._

Potter's eyes flashed. "The 'why's' don't matter, Malfoy. If they did, we could sit here all day discussing the reasons behind _your_ choices."

Exasperated, Draco turned to look at his partner, who gave him a smile, encouraging him to carry on.

"The Potter I knew would've just answered the damn question."

"Obviously," Potter said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not him. I would never be here otherwise. Just get on with it, will you?"

Draco didn't know why, but he didn't want to get on with it. Call it foolish, but he wasn't just about to let it go. Now that Potter was in front of him, he wanted – no, needed – the answers that he'd sought for so long. He wanted to know why. Why did Potter have to turn? Why did he choose to leave everyone without the hope they needed in such dark times? Draco resolved that he was going to get his answers, Potter's stubbornness be damned.

"Don't you ever feel guilty, Potter? Don't you have sleepless nights, where all you feel is the disgusting burning on your arm, reminding you of all the death and destruction you've caused?"

Almost unconsciously, Draco's fingers twitched towards his own Mark, a stark reminder of the naïve, cowardly idiot he'd been in his younger years. (He'd tried to remove it, of course, or even lessen the burning that constantly pained his arm, but nothing he or his team had done had worked. Draco had been more than upset, with good reason, but eventually he'd come to accept its presence, to accept that it would never let him forget his past mistakes. Jem, especially, had helped him work through the crushing guilt and the self-loathing, and helped him understand that he was only human, and that he did not have to be defined by his past. His pride would not let him admit it aloud, and he didn't know what he did to deserve it, but Draco would be eternally grateful.)

"Do you even care about the lives you've ruined, Potter? Of all the innocent souls you've landed in St. Mungo's? Or do you enjoy it and embrace it? Do you smile at the screams-"

Draco was abruptly cut off as Potter rose, the chair that he had occupied clattering to the floor. Potter, positively trembling with anger, leaned across the table till his face was only an inch away from Draco's. Forgetting that he could easily overpower Potter, seeing as he had a wand and Potter didn't, Draco's eyes widened.

" _Don't_ presume to know _anything_ about me, _Malfoy_. You know nothing about me. _Nothing_ ," Potter growled in barely more than a whisper, but still managed to intimidate. Not a moment later, Draco saw a familiar wand press into the side of Potter's neck, and Potter visibly stiffened.

"Take a step back! Now! I won't ask again."

Potter turned hate-filled eyes towards Jem, looking as if he would much rather die than submit.

"Or what? You'll Crucio me?"

"If that's what it takes."

Potter glared at Jem but relented, although muttering.

"Probably can't even cast it."

"Want to take that chance?"

Draco, finally remembering himself, reached into his robes and drew his wand, levelling it at Potter. He caught Jem's eye and inclined his head slightly, indicating that he could handle it. Jem nodded in return and lowered his wand, flicking it to right the chair. Jem gripped Potter's shoulder and shoved him, harder than necessary, back on the chair.

"You'd better not try anything else, Potter."

Scowling, Potter grunted his compliance and Jem returned to his seat beside Draco. Still caught in the feelings that Potter's outburst had stirred up in him, Draco spoke the only thing that came to mind.

"You're right about one thing, Potter. I don't know anything about you. Care to fill me in?"

"I don't see why you'd want to know, Malfoy. It's not as if you cared to even get to know me before you decided to hate me."

Draco sighed, regretful and he wondered (not for the first time) if – no, how much – his actions had played a part in Potter's choices.

"Look, Potter. I'm sorry, really. If I hadn't been such a –"

"Whatever. It hardly matters now."

Draco opened his mouth, about to reply, but Jem cut in.

"What's your motive in coming here, Potter? All this time we've been here, you've barely given us adequate information. I'm starting to suspect Voldemort orchestrated this. Planting you here…"

Jem trailed off and fixed a challenging stare at Potter, whose composure seemed to have been shaken slightly at hearing the title. Draco himself flinched, as he always did around the name, although the fear that lingered was nowhere near as intense as it had once been.

"Fools," Potter sneered, staring right back. "Brave, yes, for using his name. But still fools. This was all under the Dark Lord's control once, if you remember. Do you really think we couldn't have just blasted our way in and taken this Ministry by force? It wouldn't even be a challenge, really. Why would I ever need to be _planted_ here?"

Hearing those words – words that reiterated the harsh reality of their situation, Draco frowned. Yes, he knew – they all knew – that the Dark Lord was powerful (not even counting Potter) and that his mass of followers could match the Ministry in more than size, but it was another thing to hear it spoken of in such a crude, straightforward manner. Draco's heart seized, knowing full well their prospects if what Potter had mentioned actually occurred.

"So, why _are_ you here?"

As the words left Draco's mouth, Potter's fingers picked up their drumming, but the man himself seemed to still. Potter stared at the two Aurors, as if assessing them – for what, Draco didn't know. After a moment, Potter closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. When he opened them, Draco blinked, wondering if it was merely a figment of his imagination or if the old Potter had indeed returned - his eyes, at least. The room itself seemed to calm, and the silence resounded in their ears. Then –

"It's time. You deserve to know."

Potter leaned back; both Draco and Jem leaned forward, on the edge of their seats.

Then the alarms blared.

And the room went dark.

* * *

 **A/N:** Well... that took a long time. Sorry for not posting, but I was concentrating more on Potter in Green for a while. (Check that out if you haven't yet. I'd appreciate it.) Anyway, this chapter was fun to write, and I do hope you enjoy reading it. Please review and rate! :)


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